Standing, admiring, the flame.
The smoke reaches out for me, tickles
my nostrils with the scent of Church.
The flame moves lower on the stick of incense.
The grey trail of ghost-like fingers dance forth,
Caress the skin of my face,
And remind of the kisses from her
That I never had.
A wind from outside the window whispers comfort.
A flicker in the glow disturbs its rhythmic swaying.
Wordless breath extinguishes the note-less song,
But the smoke lives on, taunting, tearing;
Bearing indefinable,
or maybe just unspeakable meaning.
I prayed.
And in the fragrant darkness,
Her animated face drew itself upon the shadows.
Her illuminating smile etched indelibly in the benighted ceiling.
Like a neon light, comfortably close to my earth,
Patronizing the beauty of a star-less midnight sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem